


Never argue with Angels

by grimdarkfandango



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Besotted Crowley (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimdarkfandango/pseuds/grimdarkfandango
Summary: Aziraphale merely smiled and talked slower, the same way one would to a small child or, if one was being particularly patronising, to the Lord of Flies.“I’m here because you have something of mine. If you’d be so kind as to return it, I’ll happily be on my way.”





	Never argue with Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and blessings upon the house of Ponderosa, extraordinary beta and enabler both, without whom there wouldn't be a single line break in this fic.

It was February. The last summer of the old world had been and gone, and when the world failed to end, autumn and winter had followed apace. Christmas had been cold and cosy wrapped up against the world outside - odd, that it snowed in Soho alone of all London on Christmas Eve, but the inhabitants were touched by the nostalgia of it even if only two of them understood quite why.

February however, had drawn long and dreary and the darkness and damp oppressive. Perfect circumstances for some extended hibernation in the back room of a bookshop, with some mulled wine (and maybe later a hot toddy and an old argument) to heat the blood and keep two immortal beings entertained until the light chose to return.

Except, at this moment, one of them was in Hell.

Crowley had given up straining against his bonds, chains of infernal iron keeping him exactly where Hell wanted him. Instead he was slouching, glaring, and failing to hold onto his normal nonchalant expression in exchange for outright confusion. “Look I don’t know what you think I did, but I haven’t done it. I even mean it this time! Why would I bother lying about this, Lord Beelzebub.”

Beelzebub sprawled on the blocky throne, Dagon and Hastur in their usual places at zir sides.

“Because, Crowley, you’re a demon and demons _lie_.

Dagon leaned into Beelzebub, eyes trained on Crowley. “Uh, Lord Beelzebub, after last time - do we _know_ he’s still a demon?”

If looks could kill - and some could, down here - Dagon would be pierced through with the stare Beelzebub threw them. Luckily, that wasn’t one of Beelzebub’s particular skills.

“Shut it, Dagon. Now where was I. Ah yes: the reading of your crimes, Crowley.”

Crowley lolled his head around, wishing Hastur hadn’t nicked his glasses. He’d never thought they’d be so bold as to ambush him on his way back to the Bentley after running to the bakery for Aziraphale, it was practically embarrassing. His eclairs were probably smeared all over the street, the bastards.

“Look I told you, I don’t know anything about any missing demons, I hadn’t seen any of you lot since the whole _incident_ and frankly, was hoping it’d stay that way.”

“So were we, but that was before half a dozen lesser demons went missing and,” Beelzebub glanced over and zir swarm circled the file Dagon was carrying, “according to records, were _dizzzcorporated_. There’s not exactly a lot of ways that can happen now is there, Crowley.”

Crowley let out a frustrated groan and twisted beneath the chains, kicking his legs and banging the chair back and forth.

Trying to talk sense into demons was worse than trying to win an argument with Aziraphale.

It was about then there was a blinding flash and a discreet cough.

“Ah, so sorry to bother but - well. I believe you have something of mine.”

Crowley craned his head backwards over the chair and frowned at the upside-down image he received. Speak of the devil - er - angel. “What in Heaven are you doing here?”

Crowley tilted back to watch Aziraphale calmly walk forward to stand next to his chair, hands loosely clasped behind his back as if he were strolling through St. James’ and not the bowels of Hell.

Beelzebub was up on zir feet, but Dagon and Hastur shied back from the presence of an uninvited angelic interloper.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Prinzzzipality?”

Aziraphale merely smiled and talked slower, the same way one would to a small child or, if one was being particularly patronising, to the Lord of Flies. “I’m here because you have something of mine. If you’d be so kind as to return it, I’ll happily be on my way.”

Crowley frowned and looked between Aziraphale and Beelzebub, locked in their own stare-down. “Oi are you talking about me?”

Beelzebub narrowed zir eyes. “You’re the one who’s been dizzzcorporating the demons.”

Aziraphale merely smiled wider.

Crowley felt like his head was going to develop a permanent swivel. “You’ve what? Don’t be daft. You haven’t have you?”

“They chose to trespass. I believe we made our position clear last time you tried this little farce. Earth is ours, and trespassers will not be tolerated.”

Crowley’s head had finally settled to stare openly at Aziraphale - _Aziraphale_ \- who was talking about discorporating demons as if he were dealing with ants invading his kitchen.

“You’re not authorizzzed. You have no _right_!”

“Oh I have every right, I have the _only_ right.”

Aziraphale began to glow ever so faintly, a wash of ethereal light illuminating the dark corners of the room and making even Crowley’s eyes sting with the brightness of it, proof of just how righteous he could be.

Beelzebub slowly sank back to sit on the throne, considering the two beings before them. “I’ll tell Gabriel. Killing demons is in direct violation of the ceasefire. You could start the whole war again.”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow and Crowley forgot how to breathe. He knew that face, he’d had it aimed at him more than enough to know exactly what was coming and this time he had a front row seat.

“Please. Shall I call him? I’m sure he’d love to hear that you’re letting demons escape Hell under your watch to wreak havoc on Earth. I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear Hell is being led so _competently_.” Aziraphale reached into a pocket and produced a shiny mobile phone that Crowley _knew_ he didn’t own, studiously considering the black screen as if he was trying to remember Gabriel’s number.

“Or no, of course, you have perfect dominion over all the legions of Hell, so you must have known the demons were leaving - perhaps sent on your orders, to try and take out your rogue agent? Though their presence, with your knowledge, would _also_ be a violation of the ceasefire…”

Aziraphale’s head tilted coquettishly and Crowley was pretty sure he had adoration written all over his face - for a moment at least. “Wait hang on a second, you mean you _have_ been killing demons? You’ve been making me do your dirty work for centuries and NOW you decide you can kill things?!”

Aziraphale gave him a fond look. “Well they weren’t things that mattered before. Anyway, I rather like when you do things for me.”

Now Crowley was sure he looked besotted, and he was also sure he didn’t care one bit. “You bastard. You _absolute_ bastard, I love you.”

Aziraphale smiled for real then, eyes crinkling as he patted Crowley’s cheek. “I know dear, oh _do_ keep up.”

He turned his attention back to Beelzebub, clasping his hand behind his back again. “Now, shall I call Gabriel? Let him know that Heaven’s _softest_ angel was able to dispatch several of Hell’s emissaries - without the flaming sword, even - or would you like to do the honours?”

Beelzebub was slouched, chewing on a ragged fingernail, considering the pair they made - a chained but gleeful demon and a smug and unfortunately, horribly, correct angel.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley tried his best not to cackle. Aziraphale never lost an argument, not even with the Lord of Hell.

“You’ll let Crowley go?”

Beelzebub growled and clicked zir fingers, the chains falling from around Crowley as he leaped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet and jamming his hands in his pockets, grinning viciously at Hastur still cowering behind the throne.

“Then we shan’t speak of this to Gabriel. And, I presume, all trespassing will cease?”

“This won’t be the last of it though, you stole the demons' war and they will always want it back. But anyone thinking of disobeying my orders will pay for it.”

Aziraphale inclined his head in a respectful bow, phone disappearing into a pocket.

“I understand, the troops’ morale is low. Though not as low as if they learned their fellows had been dispatched by a disgraced angel. Best let them believe that deserters suffer only under your firm rule, Lord Beelzebub.”

Beelzebub sniffed and adjusted zir jacket, nodding. “Quite right.”

Aziraphale smiled but the steel was evident beneath his words when he spoke. “No interference will be tolerated, from either side. If there are any discussions of the sort, remember what happened here today and know I won’t come so peacefully again.”

His expression cleared and he clapped his hands together, brushing away the invisible dirt of the discussion. “Best we all just forget this little incident ever happened, eh good fellows?”

Aziraphale spun on his heel and headed for the door. “Come along now, my dear.”

Crowley grinned and sauntered up to Hastur, carefully retrieving his sunglasses from where they were tucked in the neck of his shirt before he followed Aziraphale out, spinning to walk backwards and wriggle his fingers in a little wave, throwing in a wink and a kiss for good measure before the door swept closed behind them.

He barely lasted until they were on the escalator out the front door before he turned on Aziraphale, glasses returned to their rightful place. “Ohhh angel, that was good. That was very good. That was _brilliant_.”

Aziraphale blushed pink and had the good grace to look a little embarrassed at the praise, while still clearly basking in it. He gave a smug little wiggle and shot a reproachful glance at Crowley, mouth twitching with a repressed grin.

“Oh hush you, we’re just lucky they didn’t try a second round of punishment like last time. That won’t be the last we have to deal with them, or the others - I’m sure there are angels just as annoyed with me as there are demons mad at you.”

“But you were _brilliant_, I’ve never seen Beelzebub talked out of something like that, normally once ze’s made a decision that’s it there’s no recourse, but you just wielded their own bureaucratic bullshit against them!”

“Yes well, if there’s one thing I know it’s Gabriel, and now that we know the two have some kind of working relationship it wasn’t much of a stretch to see Beelzebub couldn’t risk losing that much face. You know Gabriel, he’d never let up if he learned of a mistake like that, he can’t abide softness or dissent. It was a calculated risk that thankfully paid off.”

They’d made it out to the street and were walking the well-worn path back to the bookshop.

The adrenaline was starting to wear off in the weak daylight and Crowley was considering Aziraphale closely.

“How long has this been going on then, with the demons - you weren’t lying about that, so you’d better explain what you’ve actually been doing.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and kept his eyes on the streets around them, checking traffic as they crossed the road rather than meeting Crowley’s gaze.

“Aziraphale. What have you been up to.”

Aziraphale darted his eyes to Crowley’s, looking nervous. “I may have placed a few angelic wards around your flat. And the bookshop, obviously, but those have been there so long they’re a part of the very stones, I simply… beefed them up a little. Oh, and a couple on your car. Just very minor blessings! I didn’t want you to think I was intruding.”

They’d reached the bookshop, and as Aziraphale took a moment to unlock the doors Crowley concentrated, feeling the stronger than usual wards circling the shop. He hadn’t taken much notice of them before, there had been wards there since the shop was established but he’d never felt the space anything less than welcoming to him.

“They tried to come here?” Crowley growled, the idea of demons coming to the bookshop, catching Aziraphale unawares…

“Not really, they were mostly concerned with you and didn’t seem willing to approach me for some reason.”

Crowley’s eyebrow shot up and he shed the sunglasses again now they were in the safety of the shop. He let Aziraphale fix them both drinks before staring pointedly, waiting for him to finish the story.

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. “One outside your flat, late September, and another three days before Christmas. A pair tried to follow you after you left here one evening to go pick up dinner, and another tried to approach the Bentley. The last one was last Tuesday on the way to the park and I swear that’s all of them.”

Crowley was staring, drink forgotten. “You killed six demons? To protect me?”

Aziraphale sniffed and took a sip of his scotch. “I only killed four, thank you very much. I convinced the one at Christmas that demoning was terrible work and they should take an extended holiday while they were out in the world. Last I heard they were headed to Florida. The one that tried to touch the Bentley I don’t know what happened, but by the time I got to it it was nothing but a smoking husk. I think the car dealt with it for you, actually.”

Crowley blinked, weighed the merits of the unusual situation, and blinked again. “You killed four demons! When were you going to tell me about any of this?!”

Aziraphale looked a little ashamed, twisting his glass in his hands. “I didn’t want you to worry, really my dear after all we’d been through I felt this was the least I could do.”

Crowley exhaled deeply, carefully placing his scotch untouched on the desk. “So you kill four demons and march down to Hell because, and I quote, they ‘had something of yours’?” 

Aziraphale quirked a smile and set his glass next to Crowley’s. He reached out a hand and cupped Crowley’s cheek, stroking a thumb along the sharp ridge of cheekbone. “Are you not mine?”

Crowley exhaled softly, tilting his head slightly into the soft palm. “You utter bastard. Of course I’m yours.”

Aziraphale’s smile widened and he stepped closer, pressing them chest to chest, both hands now cradling Crowley’s face. The dark of Aziraphale’s pupils reflected a flash of amber as Crowley was held tight by his gaze and his touch.

“You’re mine as surely as I am yours. And I will brook no argument on the subject.”

Crowley snorted a laugh, hands skating up Aziraphale’s sides to rest at his waist.

“Never win arguments with you anyway.”


End file.
